Hamlet Hidden Rendezvous
by Emgee Kagamine
Summary: Prequel to One Half Romeo:Follows the story of Alfred and Matthew; how tough decisions and mixed emotions pertaining to envy lead to either deceit or love. In a setting where a narrow path is forcibly carved, forcing Alfred to choose: yes, or no.
1. Chapter 1

Hamlet Hidden Rendezvous

If Alfred F. Jones could think of one word to describe his life at the moment, he knew that it would definitely be: "_indecisive"_.

Having been born a child of what were considered "middle class" parents, he grew up with very little problems. Of course, everything could only stay the same for a short period of time; change, after all, did not bend its rules for even the nicest child. Over the years, he noticed his parents' loving gestures transform into grotesque actions screaming "hate"; his father had left soon after, leaving Alfred as the head of the household. Soon after that, he was moved from his exclusive private school, to a simpler and smaller public one.

At this school, he put up a front. "Happy", "outgoing", "a 'hero' of sorts"; all just titles he claimed for his empty shell of a body. However, though his anti-socialism, he miraculously made _one _friend – well, someone who he wanted to be friends with very much.

_Matthew Williams_.

He didn't speak much, so Alfred knew nothing about him except his name. Matthew wore black and red most days – all days. Rumours had circulated that he was part of a "not so nice" group in their town. Not only that, but according to these rumours, Matthew was the ringleader. Nevertheless, Alfred had begun to develop romantic feelings towards the other boy.

Matthew had one friend, this, "Arthur" character. Annoying, loud, angry almost _all _the time in class…

Alfred wondered how he was ever going to get close to Matthew with this obstacle blocking his path.

It would take some time; this, he knew. What did he have to lose? He basically had nothing now anyways.

_He was going to take this chance._

"…Alfred!" His mother called, semi-sweetly, "…you need to get to school early! Breakfast is ready on the table, and I'll be out for work!"

Without even a "good bye", Alfred heard the door shut close. He was used to the "new" schedule: wake up, get changed, eat breakfast, survive life. The same old melody; a record stuck on replay.

Alfred sighed, lazily dragging his feet across the carpeted floor of his room, "…ugh…"

He opened his closet, taking out his brown leather jacket, a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt. Quickly, he threw them on, and then proceeded to consuming the random slop his mother had cooked up for breakfast.

At least he had a goal set for today.

It was the same goal he had every day; but, still a goal nonetheless.

"_Get Matthew to notice me."_

Sure, they were simple to say, but many times he had tried; and many times, he failed.

"This time…" he mumbled to himself, "…it'll be different; this time."

* * *

"Late again! Mr. Jones, that's the second Saturday of this month's detention schedule." The principal wrote up a slip, ripping it from a pad of paper and handed it to Alfred, "Let's learn from our mistakes this time, alright?"

"…Yes, sir…"

Alfred didn't care much about the detention slip, or the fact that he was late. Matthew always arrived around this time, and no one ever gave him a slip!

Perhaps it was because everyone felt threatened by him.

He shook the thought from his mind, "…spare, first block. I guess I could roam around the school for a little while…"

Walking through the cafeteria, Alfred found his usual spot in the corner free, and slumped down onto the seat; letting his books fall down onto the table in a loud thud. He began drumming his fingers on the table's surface, a stable beat playing through the quiet mess hall.

Usually he would nap, or, if something exciting happened, he'd watch it play out.

Luckily for him, this was one of those "exciting" days.

Mostly because, Matthew had just walked into the cafeteria.

Yes, his heart did beat faster.

Yes, he wanted to approach him.

Yes, he followed through with that plan.

Yes, he was ignored thoroughly by the person he had a crush on.

_And yes, he had just walked in with Arthur._

Something inside Alfred flared; an inner firework full of rage and envy that only pure jealousy could ignite; colours of pure green, fires so hot that even ice wouldn't have time to melt.

_That was how he felt at the moment._

It upset him to a point where Alfred couldn't finish his lunch, or worse, he would not even eat for days; the grotesque feeling filling him up so much that he could not even process what was going on at the current moment.

If only he had stepped in between them when he had first arrived at the school; Arthur was just an exchange student. It wasn't fair. Was he always like this? Was something wrong with him?

He liked keeping things _separate_; even at his old school, his small groups of friends were separated; they never spoke outside their groups, never mingled, and he liked it just like that.

If only he could convert such an emotion into something much simpler to handle! Or to latch it onto something; lock it away, better yet, get rid of the feeling _completely._

He hated it so much. Alfred rarely felt such painful waves wash through him. However, this time he was on the verge of depression.

Afraid that the duo might catch him staring, he quickly averted his eyes and looked down at his books.

"Crying…is for the weak…" He mumbled out, tracing the words on his text book lightly with the tip of his mechanical pencil, "…My name…" he paused, "…my…name…?"

He sighed, tossing his pencil to the side, "…my name is Alfred F. Jones…and the thing that I hate most about myself?"

He closed his books and angrily walked out of the cafeteria.

"…is that I'm a very selfish person."


	2. Chapter 2

At home, Alfred sat in front of his computer, pounding furiously on the keys of his keyboard. The horrible feeling from a few hours ago had slowly sunk in and was eating him from the inside out. He wasn't "_angry"_; really, he wasn't.

_He was way beyond that._

"…Life gives me lemons, I make lemonade, and then life comes along and splashes me in the eyes, pointing and laughing as I cry out in pain."

_Period._

Alfred paused for a moment, and read over the words he had just typed out.

"…Grgh!…" He grabbed the closest object – a plastic pencil holder; he aimed it directly at his closet's mirror and, with a heavy amount of force, and a successful hit, the mirror cracked only slightly, a spider web shape gracing the upper left corner of the two way glass.

He felt bad for a moment, but the feeling only dispersed; he was angry; _that_, he could admit.

Alfred hated feeling envious, jealous, "green-eyed".

However, it was simply who he was. As a child he would be upset at even the smallest things. On top of that, he had low self esteem, although he would never show it – everyone else seemed to be able to adapt to the situation before them, while it took him what seemed to be the longest time to do the same.

"plan…plan…I need a plan…" He pulled some white paper out, "…I hate this feeling…I hate it…so much…"

Pulling out a pencil, he started scribbling random doodles – not very good ones – pressing down on the lead each time he made a stroke; so much that it would leave marks on his desk through the sheet.

Everything had gone by so fast, he barely recalled the happy – if there were any – memories he had before his parents had split.

These thoughts further angered him.

Tossing the pencil to the side, he crumpled the sheet into a small ball, and threw it into the trashcan.

"_Who am I kidding?"_ Alfred allowed gravity to let his head drop painfully on his desk, "…I'll never get him to notice me."

Matthew was barely noticed at school himself; he added in his mind, "…this sucks."

This complicated train of thought was interrupted by his mother's voice coming from the kitchen downstairs, "Dinner's ready! Get down here, now!"

Alfred felt no obligation to reply.

* * *

Dinner commenced thickly coated in silence, as per usual. His mother never was one for initiating a conversation with him, or with anyone. This made it difficult for him to uncover any real emotion – if any – that his mother had for him.

Surprisingly however, this evening's dinner was served with a side of unusual questioning.

"Alfred…" His mother started, a twinge of concern only slightly evident in her voice, "…Dear, your forehead is bruised; did you hurt yourself, today?"

"…'bruised'? What makes you say that?" Alfred spat out bitterly; his mother, not at all fazed by his answer.

"…Well, it_ seems_ as if you've been angry for quite a long time now an-"

"'Seems'? You're wrong. It's been well over three years that I've been upset by everything! You're always going on, and on and on about how I'm not dressing as 'proper' as I had been at my old school, and how I'm now 'suddenly acting rebellious' when all I ever do is obey _your _ rules! If this 'bruise' today was the only thing that made you realize all this, then yes; yes, mother, I did _'seem'_ angry, and I did '_seem' _upset. So, tell me why you didn't confront me about my 'anger' the moment you noticed it, 'Quite. Along. Time. Ago.'?"

His mother gave no answer, no reply, no comment, not even as much as a nod of the head. The table was quiet for a solid five minutes; nothing could be heard except for the light clanking of cutlery and plates. Instead, in an attempt to fan away the dark atmosphere, his mother changed the subject.

* * *

"…What to do…" Alfred lay on his bed, tossing a baseball up, only to have it fall back down into his hand; he repeated the process. Having survived dinner once again – just as he had done every night, he had some spare time to think. Any _"normal" _person would have gotten sick of it, and left. He often wondered at times, why he hadn't abandoned the situation completely, deserted his mother and claim autonomy for himself.

He was thirteen; A sixth grader who had been robbed of his childhood, and forced into early work as an "adult".

Furthermore, he was in love; or rather – _infatuated _with a boy at school! A boy who he couldn't even hold a conversation with.

Alfred sighed, tossed the ball up once more, and caught it; leaving it on his bed, as he got up and grabbed his coat by the door, "…I need some air."

* * *

The night was cold, the air was freezing; yet, he didn't care.

He always thought it made someone look cool in movies when they took a shot like that; the protagonist walking alone at night, hands in his pockets, puffing air out into the quiet space, watching as his breath slowly fall in gentle grey clouds before dissolving into the night.

Alfred also knew that in _these _types of movies; the main character would usually run into some ridiculous kind of bump in the plot at this point; an event that would spark the rising action, and – hopefully; slowly – get to the climax.

He made it to a nearby convenience store, and, upon arriving at the tattered up welcome mat, lazily reached into his pocket for some change, only able to pull out about a dollar and thirty two cents.

He shrugged, and dragged himself inside; it'd be enough to buy a can of pop, and maybe a pack of gum if he was lucky.

The depressed teen was hoping to find _some_ peace at the small shop; however, the moment the automatic doors slid apart, he could've sworn his heart dropped to his stomach.

It was almost like a video game he once played; the player defeats the boss monster, and is rewarded with whatever is left in the castle.

Of course, the tables would turn if the boss level consisted of him, and the one he had a crush on; standing in front of the soda machine so that he couldn't even see the price sign. Furthermore, Matthew was just leaning up against the side of the machine, orange pop in one hand, cell phone in the other.

Instead of casually walking past Matthew to grab a can for himself, Alfred circled around the store discreetly for a few minutes, much like a shark surrounding its prey. When he noticed that there was no chance of Matthew ever moving from the spot any time soon, he gave up and forced himself to walk over for a drink.

He was incredibly mindful of each step he took; thinking that if he made one false move, Matthew would notice, and he'd have less than the chance he thought he had in their _possible _future.

His hands almost trembled; fidgeting as he counted up his coins. He put in the money, hit a random button, and flinched at the sound of the can dropping to the bottom of the machine's tray.

_Strawberry juice._

"Ugh." It wasn't that Alfred hated the drink; he was usually in the mood for something more carbonated, and strawberries really weren't his thing.

"…I'll trade with you, if you want." He heard a voice call out from beside him; Alfred found himself unable to speak even more so. Matthew continued, "…I hit the wrong button by mistake. Drinks like these bother me; I prefer something much mellower."

"Ah..uh..mm…t-that-!" Alfred mentally slapped himself; the very first time Matthew actually acknowledged him, and he was spewing up random words and forming incoherent sentences!

Matthew laughed, and forcibly switched the cans, "You're funny; we go to the same school, don't we?"

When Alfred stuttered some more and refused to speak normally, Matthew added, "You're always alone in the cafeteria; I wondered if you were just a social outcast or something."

"W-well…that...is…" Alfred tried to calm down; although he was sure he couldn't hear his own thoughts over the loud thumping of his heart beat.

"…I've background checked you, as well." Matthew seemed almost terrifying; yet upon closer examination, he showed almost no spitefulness towards Alfred.

"…You _like _me. I know. I advise that you keep your distance from me, for your own safety."

And that was it. Alfred had, _lost_.

Or at least, that's what he thought, until Matthew continued speaking; he laughed lightly, "…But I'm amused. If you choose to pursue this any further, I have a proposition for you."

"Huh?" Alfred coughed, "...w-what is it?"

It was humiliating enough that his crush figured him out; and now, all he wanted to do was toy with him? Alfred inwardly admitted to himself, though, the mysterious offer was very tempting…

"If you can get me to at least _tolerate _you by the end of this term, I'll go out with you."

Alfred agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

The shock of last night's encounter with Matthew left Alfred in a bit of a slump. The evening also left him with questions that he was too afraid to ask, and even more terrified to learn the answers. Yes, he found it eerily frightening that Matthew would go so far as to search up a washed up nobody such as himself; but, whether the situation at hand was positive or negative, he didn't care. Hopefully, it was fuel he needed to reach his goal.

His alarm clock went off with a high-pitched obnoxious bleep; to which he rolled over grumpily and smacked the top down to shut it up. Alfred lay in his bed for a few moments, his mind fully awake; his body unresponsive. Forcefully pushing himself off the bed, he staggered towards the bathroom, turning on the tap, and splashing his face with a handful of ice cold water.

Then, groaning, he finished washing up, throwing on a new pair of blue jeans, and a random t-shirt. Deciding that today he'd actually have something to look forward too, he shuffled through his backpack and took out his contact lens case – he hadn't worn them for a few months; so it took him a solid thirty minutes to get them in.

_Carpe Diem._

He leaned back into his chair as he stuffed himself with sloppily-made eggs; his mother had left early once again for "work" – leaving behind a scrapped up note with the usual "Left for work, lock up the house. Mom"

Gobbling up the rest of his breakfast, he downed a full glass of orange juice before grabbing his shoes, and heading out the door.

* * *

Alfred tore up the usual late slip he received from the principal; he knew the drill. Practically having every Saturday stolen away from him, for a mere couple of missing minutes, that he "had to make up".

"…Gym, first block." He groaned; Alfred was not one for _heavy duty exercise_, although he enjoyed snacking on fast food as opposed to any kind of cardio work.

_It wouldn't hurt to skip this class, right?_

He walked down the hallway with a strange, new found, kind of confidence. Unfortunately, this outbreak of positive energy would be put to no use – Matthew was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he was out skipping again; he was usually seen out with his gang, at the arcade in the shadiest area downtown.

Even _he _wouldn't dare venture out there. Yet, those same words echoed in his head. If he didn't take this chance, he would never have Matthew acknowledge him.

"…Logically…I think to think about this, _logically._"

Would it benefit him to visit Matthew at the arcade? Risk his life at the feet of those thugs? Or, would it be better to stay at school, and wait? Be patient, and end up looking like a wimp?

_He chose the latter._

_

* * *

_Downtown was almost like a city on its own. The streets were full of broken down buildings, re-construction sites, women overly painted up to look like dolls; broken dreams advertized on street corners, sold for a measly two bucks and then some.

He couldn't fathom what to make of it; why Matthew hung out in this dump was beyond him.

Alfred walked some more, past more eroded objects and uncovered construction ditches; finally reaching the old, run down gaming centre set in the very heart of the city.

Surprisingly, the automatic doors still functioned like new; allowing him access to the "gaming room" – which, only consisted of a malfunctioning television, half a couch, and a pinball machine in the corner.

Alfred caught Matthew at the pinball machine – _by himself;_ he was thankful for that – Although he stuck out amongst the other people in the room; they all had a _distinct _fashion and aura around them.

Sure, he received a few intimidating stares; none of them life threatening, so he chose to ignore them and walk on.

Upon hearing the faint tapping of footsteps growing closer towards him, Matthew made no notion to move; knowing full well that Alfred had skipped – his distinct walking style; louder than most, he made sure to mentally store that information – he would _not _allow him to win this "game".

"What are you doing here?" Matthew spoke, eyes glued to the machine as he played. A nervous laugh, a bit of stuttered out nonsense and Alfred replied, "Just thought you'd be here. There's not much to do in this part of town; if you're planning to skip, I'll join you. My mom usually doesn't come home until later, so, if you want to come over…that is…"

"Sure." He sighed; he only came here when he was looking for trouble, anyways.

* * *

Silence between the two was eerily evident while they ventured to Alfred's house. The trip also seemed much longer than usual to Alfred; perhaps because his heart was beating faster, or because his crush would chew and pop his gum every couple of seconds; disturbing the quiet atmosphere. When they had finally arrived at his home, gotten inside, kicked off their shoes, Alfred suggested they grab some pop to drink.

"…Your kitchen is _huge._" Matthew stifled a laugh, "you sure you're not trying to over-compensate for _something_?"

Alfred blushed, coughed, and ignored the comment, "Here…" he threw open the door of the fridge, and tossed a can in Matthew's direction – he had barely caught it – also grabbing one for himself. He shut the door closed, but was alerted when he found a neon-pink coloured post-it note attached with a magnet, that read, _"I've got a date tonight. Watch the house. –Mom"_

Alfred didn't care; she could leave the country for the night if she wanted. He didn't care. Not wanting his guest to suspect anything negative, he pasted on a fake smile and returned his gaze back to Matthew, "It's iced tea, drink up."

"Thanks…" They opened up their cans simultaneously, each taking a gulp, swallowing; before heaving a satisfied sigh, setting the cans on the table.

"So…" Matthew started, eyes roaming throughout the kitchen, examining each minor detail, "…What's there to do?"

"Erm…" Alfred thought for a moment, "…I've got an x-box upstairs…"

* * *

"…No way! You're cheating! How'd you do that?" Alfred raged at Matthew, who only laughed at the boy who was currently losing, zero to five, Matthew laughed through his speech, "I-I swear! I've never played this game in my entire life!"

Alfred huffed, though he was secretly happy, he never thought he'd ever get the chance to talk with his crush, let alone hang out with him.

He shut the device off, and sat down beside Matthew, while the silence began to slowly creep in.

Nope, this wasn't awkward in the _least_.

After a few minutes had past, Matthew groaned, taking a look at the time on his watch, "Ugh. It's late. I've got to get home before my dad starts raging at me."

He stood up and stretched his back, yawning as he did so, Alfred motioning for them to head downstairs.

At the front door, Alfred leant against a wall, watching as Matthew finished tying up the laces on his sneakers. Time had gone by so fast! Of course, he wished that their time together would have been longer, however, he knew that time would pass inevitably. Fondling with the side of his glasses for a moment, he bit his bottom lip nervously, and panicked a bit when Matthew had stood up and dusted himself off. He spoke.

"So about toda-"

"No." was the sudden reply.

Alfred felt both confused and hurt; had he done something wrong?

"W-wha-?"

"…No. You haven't won this bet yet. I do thank you for today though. It was fun – for the most part." Matthew stepped outside, the evening breeze just blowing by, "…You are an irritable one, _Jones_."


	4. Chapter 4

Less than fifteen minutes had passed since Matthew had left, and Alfred was already in a forlorn state. Furthermore, his mother would be arriving home any minute from her date, which usually wasn't a good thing – for him, at least.

Just as he was thinking, he heard the quiet jangle of keys, as the door creaked open. Words of nonsense, inside jokes, and loud; hearty laughter flood the room.

_Shit. She brought the boyfriend home._

"Alfred, dear!" Her voice rang, high pitched with a slight hint of soberness, "Could you set the table for dinner?"

He hesitated a while before replying, "…it's already set."

"Great! You'll be having dinner with us tonight! I've ordered take out!" and with that, she sauntered over to the kitchen, with her guest following behind tripping over boxes and other fairly large objects. Very rarely was his mother ever this _pleasant_; and even rarer was the fact that she invited him to join her – in _anything_. Of course, the only reason he was needed at the dinner table tonight was to appease her date. That was it. That was how mother saw him; a tool, used in the most unworthy situations. How many years had it been since his father left? It felt like centuries to Alfred. Yet, it only took his mother a few days to mourn, and a few hours during the funeral to hook up.

The man she chose was no "Casanova" either. The man was rude, arrogant, and crude. He made perverse jokes at the most inappropriate times; surely his dinner would be spoiled. All he knew about the guy was that he was middle-aged, and had a kid of his own – _the poor child! _However, Alfred knew that his mother would be angry if he didn't comply, so just like that, he was at the dinner table; a few cardboard containers in the centre. All he put on his plate were deep fried noodles.

It wasn't so awkward at first; this time the rude jokes came _before _dessert.

"Aha! Boys your age! I bet you get around, don't you, Alfred?" The man was drunk – Alfred wanted to punch him out, but because of his mother's sake, he tried to control himself. When the meals had finished, Alfred's mother collected up the plates – which was usually his job – and flashed them a fake smile.

"Excuse me." His mother had gone to wash up the dishes. Great, he was alone with the "world's most wanted."

"Ha! Just as a woman should be; in the kitchen!"

That was it; Alfred was enraged, his hissed, "…You should watch your mouth."

Too drunk to form any type of coherent sentence, his mother's boyfriend just slurred, "ahh… hilarious…"

His mother finished up; poorly, with the dishes, and proceeded to assist the man outside.

"Nngh! I-I can drive! D-don't worry 'bout it!" Though Alfred secretly wished his mother would let the bastard drive; if he got into a crash – even _better_.

After a few drunken arguments and disagreements, she had finally convinced him to take a taxi. His mother happily waved goodbye as the car disappeared into the distance. Her expression quickly changed to one of annoyance.

"…Ugh, my head." She turned to Alfred with a disgusted look, "…get to bed. We're done for the night."

Alfred was hurt. His mother didn't used to be like this – at least, when his father was still around. He almost felt sad for her; she was killing herself from the inside out.

If only he could tell her; yell out to her, "_YOU DON'T NEED A MAN TO MAKE YOU FEEL VALUABLE."_

…As a human being, he knew she was priceless. If only things could go back to the way they were in the past.

* * *

He didn't even bother to go to school the next day. Instead, he strolled around the dump of an arcade that Matthew was sure to be at. Different day, same pinball machine.

Matthew noticed him from the corner of his eye and laughed, "You're here early. What's wrong? Too cool for a late slip?"

When Alfred didn't respond, Matthew's tone softened, "…Hey…" He poked his forehead, "…What's up with you?"

More silence. Matthew joked.

"…You're losing betting points every second, y'know."

Alfred sighed, "…Sorry… I've just had a rough night."

Not wanting to press for details too much, but still genuinely curious, Matthew wondered just how far he could go; how much Alfred would be willing to tell him.

"…Look, if this is because I didn't get you win at that video ga-"

"No! It's just…I feel like my world is spiraling out of control." Matthew led Alfred to the torn up couch in the arcade; sitting him down, allowing him to think a bit; relax.

"…You want to talk?" Matthew questioned, crossing his arms across his chest, tapping a foot on the ground.

"I guess not." Matthew unzipped his backpack, and shuffled through it. Alfred looked up inquisitively wondering just what it was that Matthew was looking for. When he finally found it, he tossed the object in Alfred's direction.

_A cell phone?_

"Put your number in; and I'll give you mine. When you're ready to talk or vent, just hit speed dial."

Alfred nodded, and quickly input his own number into the phone; they switched, and Matthew did the same.

"This way, you won't have to come down here to see me; just call me during your spare or text me during class. You shouldn't be down in this part of town anyways. It's dangerous."

"Alright…" Alfred felt just a bit better – relieved, even! "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it." Matthew slumped beside Alfred on the couch.

"…Man, I haven't been to school in _ages_." Matthew laughed, "Arthur's been nagging at me to go back."

At the mention of their classmate's name, Alfred made a face, of which Matthew noticed, "Chill, he's been my friend for the longest time. The only difference between us is that he's a total English lit whore."Alfred stifled a laugh, perhaps he wasn't so much of a rival after all. Matthew continued, "He's actually not that bad of a person, trust me. He might seem tough on the outside, but he has good intentions." Matthew checked his watch, "…If we hurry and take a bus, we'll make it back in time for class. What do you say? I'll introduce you two there."

Normally, Alfred would've scoffed, but the atmosphere made him feel something else, "Sure, why not."

What the hell did he have to lose, anyways?

* * *

"To be! Or not to be!" The teacher began, "…These are the famous words that spark the audience in Shakespeare's 'Hamlet'!"

"Now tell me." He continued, "Why is it that we imagine Hamlet saying these lines with a skull in hand; when the play usually doesn't have a need for one?"

Arthur's hand was the first to shoot up, "It could be a possible foreshadowing for his own death. In our mind's eye, we see both Hamlet and the skull, as portrayed in many adaptations on the stage. As the audience processes the lines, they see both a very real, live, Hamlet, and a shadow of what may or may not come."

Matthew nudged Alfred, and pointed towards Arthur, "see? He's a total geek when it comes to books."

_They erupted in quiet laughter._

Following after, their teacher declared free time, until the end of the day. Arthur walked up to them, scowling, "Don't think you can get away with talking about me behind my back. I'm British, not deaf."

"Yes, yes, Arthur." Matthew rolled his eyes, pouting, "You should be glad I even came back for last class."

"You should be here for class _every day_. You're smart, but you're just too lazy to apply yourself." Matthew didn't bother to reply; instead, he cut straight to the introductions, "Anyways, this is Alfred." He pointed to the boy who was on the verge of laughing, "Alfred, this is Arthur."

Arthur held out his hand warily, "…Nice to meet you." – he was raised to act like a _proper gentleman, _regardless of if the fact that he really didn't feel any positive emotions towards Matthew's new…friend?

_Well this is awkward._

Arthur kept his hand out, waiting for a shake. Alfred swore he saw the boy's eye twitch when he offered a fist bump in return.

_Yeah, right. They were totally going to get along._


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred did his best thinking at night. He would lie on his back, look up, and just stare at all the neon, fluorescent star stickers on his ceiling that would glow and flicker slightly when he shut the lights off. A cool, light breeze would slip through the crack of his window sill, and brush his bangs gently.

He and Arthur got past the awkward silence, all right. Of course, Matthew had to step in and calm the waters down for anything reasonable to be declared.

"…Want to play a game of cards?" had been the only thing Matthew could come up with to demagnetize the negative energy pulsating between the two clashing forces; Alfred, with a sense of wanting to appease him just shrugged, "…sure, why not."

The game hadn't ended well either. Matthew won each round and left it for Arthur and himself to play out the odds. It was _awful; _Alfred felt almost abused. The shuffling of the cards, the separation of the deck, the playing down of matadors and knaves; he was waging war upon a table single-handedly with an entire squadron of the British army.

_A war of which he was losing._

It was clear that after a few trump cards, Arthur was already out to get him. And who wouldn't be? He was just a stranger who had just waltz in, making their duo, a trio.

Alfred rolled onto his side, sighing dejectedly, "…life sucks." And, to make matters worse, he couldn't even voice out his feelings towards Matthew properly. He _used _to be outgoing, he _used _to be loud, and he _used_ to be blunt about everything.

_But he had changed._

He could still hold conversations, yes. Yet, he could never find it in himself to take the initiative on anything. "_Passive"_, was more or less the word that struck the bull's eye. It was a very mellow thought; he had a very specific – almost _spoiled _way of thinking.

"…They'd have to fall in love with me first…" He started, "…that way, I can just relax."

Was what he thought; many times before. However, this mentality went by with many glitches. He was forced into situations where he did things that he was not very proud of, and, still regretted to this day.

Alfred wanted to crawl into a dark, lonely, hole and never come out. He was having such an off-week. Alfred began to delve more into the various levels of his thoughts.

The first thing that came into his mind was his deal with Matthew. He was only a few days into it, yet, he already felt like giving up entirely. Arthur was definitely that driving force of raw intellect, coupled with a sense of realism. The boy was deadly serious, stiff, a _total kill joy_.

He glanced over at what his English teacher had given him for homework that day; sitting on his desk, brand-new, pristine. He had to pay five dollars for the thing – so useless. He wasn't going to need it after they were done the study, right?

With a hardcover too, even; it was worth a read, though, right?

Alfred picked up the book, and flipped the pages through like a fan. The gentle puffs of air created by the flipping of the pages shifted his bangs a bit, and he didn't even bother to fix it. He read the passage about three times; huffing every now and then to think.

Suicide.

He wouldn't actually go through with it though; he was too afraid of the consequences, the afterlife, and the guilt that was sure to follow after.

He wouldn't cry; he'd just leave it be. What did it matter if his life had been going downhill from the start?

He wanted to salvage what was left of his happiness – if there was any left to milk out.

It was awful; distinctly, awful. He was never one for feeling any empathy for others. He was selfish, but he longed for something more.

For in the deep recesses of his mind was _hope._

"…_just tell the truth…"_ the voice in his subconscious preached, he didn't care if it looked like he was talking to himself; he was too tired.

To Alfred, the truth was a despicable thing. It could tear lives apart, rip dreams to shreds, and break every compound of knowledge down until it became a mound of incomprehensible dust – only to be whisked away by a careless wind.

He cried; it didn't matter if anyone saw him. If this was "truth", he did not wish to see the face of a lie. Gruesome, detained images that had burned themselves deep into his mind began to recollect themselves.

Alfred chucked the book a good few meters away from his bed.

Nostalgia, coupled with fond memories – they were useless. The past was pulled into the present, he recalled, tranquil and clear, he didn't know what to do.

The second thing he thought of was his mother. Kind, smart, beautiful – adjectives he would use to describe her past self. The mother he once knew; the mother he once _loved._

Disheartened, sorrowful, drained – oh, how he wished he could hold her in his arms and tell her otherwise; _but that would be a lie._

They rarely talked; save for the nights she would need him to run an errand at the store, or pay him to just get out of the house for a few hours.

Oh, how he deeply regretted his last words to her each night. How he longed for a discussion to end on a sweet note; or to possess the ability to undo, and restart the day.

It wasn't her fault; he knew. It wasn't neither his, nor his biological father's.

She was just _being._

Alfred wanted to run away; although he knew very well that he couldn't. He still bore a miniscule love for his guardian that encased enough strength to pull him down and keep him from leaving the nest. He wished that time would pass by faster; that he could grow up and not have to deal with all the crap he's been forced into taking responsibility for.

_More tears._

He assumed that crying was healthy – in _private, _at least. If he just let it flow, pour out all of his emotions, let everything go; then, just like a bruise – _if you kept pressing on it – _it would stop hurting.

_Weak, poor, unimportant._

These were things he often slandered himself for. He had _no one; _he became a _recluse. _

_

* * *

_

"_To be, or not to be, that is the question:  
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer  
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,  
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,  
And by opposing end them."_


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't difficult for Alfred to make enemies. It was simply one part attitude, and one part annoyance. Sure, he'd been insulted before, as well as hurt some people along the way. But the one thing Alfred wasn't was _immature_. If he was put into a situation in which he could not defend himself – he didn't care. As long as he took care of himself, that was all that mattered. Fighting back was something he rarely did; he never felt bad about the words that were thrown at him.

If they didn't have the audacity to say it to his face, then it meant absolutely nothing at all. So when he and Arthur fought in front of Matthew – it meant nothing. He'd let the English boy have the opinion that he was entitled to. Besides, in the end, he'd probably never see him ever again.

How depressing it was, when Matthew came up to him so abruptly the next day.

"…What is _with _you guys?" he practically radiated rage. Alfred, in an attempt to keep his cool, and prevent harming his chances with Matthew quickly thought up a somewhat reasonable explanation.

"I guess our personalities just don't match up. He can say what he wants; it's a free country. I honestly don't give a damn." Alfred slurred out, eye twitching; trying to hold back the fury that was obviously incognito.

Fortunately for him, Matthew decided not to press for further information.

The smaller boy sighed, "…Alright, but if you can't get along, at least stay away from each other. I don't need you two fighting over ridiculous things."

All Alfred could do was nod. The proposition seemed easy enough. Just stay away from the "English Terror" and everything would be fine.

Sure, all the things Arthur had said we're immature and hurt to some extent - however, they weren't words worth crying over or something to be reckoned with. Brushing it off wasn't so easy. A punch to his gut or a swing from a metal bat was something he _wished _he could inflict on his unsuspecting victim. He told himself that Arthur was simply an obstacle – a _parasite_; sucking the life out of everything around him; and most of all, getting in between himself and Matthew.

"Oh, well." Alfred sighed to himself as Matthew left. In the end there was nothing he could do. If Arthur didn't have the courage to insult him to his face, then all he had were empty glares and grudges. Laughing to himself, Alfred thought of how such a self-proclaimed "saint" – a _gentleman _he wished to be called – would go so far as to act like a mere child, in a poor attempt to defend himself.

There was an element of thanks that Alfred would have to give to Arthur. Re-named and put into his narrative pieces for writing class, Alfred was able to "kill off" a certain problematic character in black and white.

He had plausible deniability.

So when Arthur came up to him on the last day before their spring break, he _tried _to be nice.

"Did you read the email I sent you?" Arthur's tone was heavily soaked in hate with a hint of cowardice.

"Yes." Alfred replied smoothly, and without hesitation, "I didn't think much of it."

When Arthur didn't reply, Alfred continued, "…you can make as many accusations as you want. That's life. Deal with it."

Clearly irked, Arthur turned around abruptly; spinning on his heel and darting off – to save whatever dignity he had left.

When he arrived home that same day, he was fortunate enough to have his mother _alone_; boyfriend nowhere in sight. She said nothing, perhaps sensing his fragile aura. He felt as if he could snap at her at any moment – something he greatly tried to avoid.

Snapping would lead to an argument, which would lead to a fight, causing his mother to breakdown into tears in a pool of heavy liquor and bringing that man into the situation. It wasn't necessary, nor was it worth the risk.

Instead, he quickly locked himself in his room and slumped on the bed. Alfred felt the need to punch something – use something to relieve his frustration and anger. He couldn't even get close to Matthew with this new problem in the way. He'd have to avoid Arthur at all costs – he knew that Matthew was worth it.

He began to think – Alfred himself had done some pretty bad things in the past; ruin relationships, steal, cheat, lie. Did he feel any guilt? Willfully blind to the situation, he admitted feeling a slight pang of guilt. However, it quickly went away, he had no regrets.

It mattered not how many times he was put into a situation in which the opposing party would attempt to guilt trip him. He was his own person. If he could take care of himself, that was all that mattered. In the end he really had no one but himself – it was the same for everyone.

Still, Arthur's words were hurtful – as immature and meaningless as they were. It wasn't as if Alfred's already broken and fragmented world would come crashing down on him. If anything, he was already dead.

On the inside, at least.

Called him alone? He brushed it off with a laugh, and point to all the people who've stayed with him through tougher times than this.

Called him a liar? He raised an eyebrow and questioned how Arthur could be so saint-like – never seemingly ever telling even one lie; everyone's done it.

Question his religion? Now this part of the Arthur's slandering made him laugh. The boy was not even trying to be "righteous".

He was simply insulting Alfred just for the sake of being able to.

"Oh, the poor baby must be crying." Alfred bitterly laughed to himself. Revenge was the last thing on his mind. And he certainly wasn't going to give Arthur the time of day, let alone a reply to his wave of insults and false accusations. "He must have been so proud to have written something up" he smirked, "but his words are shallow – they mean absolutely nothing."

Yawning, Alfred flipped onto his side. Tomorrow was a weekend. He'd have plenty of time to rest, or think, question his sanity.

But for now, he was content with taking the blow. After all, no one in the world was perfect. How dare Arthur act like Alfred was the scum of the Earth, and he, the purest man that ever had walked the country.

To err is human, to forgive divine; he supposed.

Why couldn't Arthur be more upset with the worse things happening in the world? People were dying in other countries due to war; many children were kept as slaves! Resources depleting, the issues were endless!

Yet all he could selfishly think about was his own well being.

How he could simply protect himself, after feeling threatened by someone else. If it was a physical threat – a threat of death, Alfred could understand. However, Arthur was simply attacking him, just because he could.

Focus. _Focus. _He thought repeatedly in his mind. Alfred was frustrated! His original plan to win Matthew over was becoming less and less probable! He couldn't even think of strategies without his anger for Arthur getting in the way!

Growling into his pillow, he rolled his eyes sarcastically.

Things became blurry quickly, and before he knew it, Alfred had lost his mind.

* * *

"_O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!  
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;  
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be  
A couch for luxury and damned incest.  
But, howsoever thou pursuest this act,  
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive  
Against thy mother aught: leave her to heaven  
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,  
To prick and sting her."_


End file.
